Je l'aime mais je veux l'oublier
by WriterKos
Summary: France. Summer. A long stakeout in a small attic. A series of small vignettes about the developing relationship between Gibbs and Jenny. Proud Winner 3rd Place Best Romance Gibbs/Jenny February 2011 NFA Hinky Awards
1. Je ne regrette rien

_**Title: Je l'aime mais je veux l'oublier  
Author: WriterKos  
Rating: FR15  
Parings: Gibbs/Jenny  
Characters: Gibbs/Jenny  
Genres: Romance, First Time, Character Study.  
Warnings: Pre-Series  
Summary: France. Summer. A long stakeout in a small attic. A series of small vignettes about the developing relationship between Gibbs and Jenny. Written for the Oh the places she's been challenge and Jibbs Challenge.**_

a/n: Yep, another WIP. I Can't help it, the plot bunnies keep attacking me. I promise this will be short. I hope. I think.

__

****

_Chapter 1: Je ne regrette rien_

Non... rien de rien...  
Non... je ne regrette rien  
Ni le bien qu'on ma fait,  
Ni le mal - tout ça m'est bien égal!  
Non... rien de rien...  
Non... je ne regrette rien

Edith Piaf - Je ne regret rien

He closes his rain jacket up to his neck, and walks silently towards the beach. His left hand, in his jacket pocket, silently caresses the letter he found in the middle of his things as he arrived in America.

She left, no goodbyes, never looking back, and only a letter is what remains to explain her reasons. That is, if she has any reasonable reason to leave him, after how they got together, how he opened up his soul and heart to another, after all these years of hiding up his emotions under lock and key. He built walls and raised sharpened spikes around his heart, all in a vain effort to stop anyone and everyone to touch his soul.

He loved, and he lost it in a blink of an eye. His wife and kid were killed while he was away, and he believed that with them a part of his soul, the one capable of loving another being, died as well.

Until she came along and slowly wiggled her way into his life.

He arrives at the beach, and takes of his shoes. He wiggles his toes on the soft white sand, and slowly walks towards the surf. His feet get wet, and he slowly walks, thinking about the woman that he believed he loved but, apparently his love wasn't enough. Not for her.

Jenny.

He approaches some rocks, lying on the beach, being bathed by the restless toil of the waves, slowly eroding it. He sits on the surface of the rock and looks at the ocean.

The seagulls fly low over the waves, trying to see any fish that might be swimming close to the surface that might become their next meal. Their cries fill the air.

He takes the letter out of his pocket, and slowly runs his hand over it to make it easier to open it. He slowly unfolds it, and sighs. Her desertion hurt. More than he was willing to admit.

A stronger wave crash against his feet, and he folds his legs higher, supporting his weight against another stone.

He opens the letter completely, and looks at it, and finally starts reading it.

_Dear Jethro,_

_If you are reading this, I left you without saying goodbye on the airplane out of Paris. I'm sorry I had to hurt you this way but, despite our amazing moments together, previous commitments demanded my attention._

_Said commitments won't allow me explore the rich universe of our passion, regardless of how much I want it._

_If everything went according to the plan, I left you on the plane, and you never noticed that I was never coming back. Taking those steps away from you, without betraying my pain and despair on leaving you behind, were the hardest ever in my whole life._

_As Edith Piaf's song says, Je ne regret rien. Pas de rien._

_I don't regret anything._

_I don't regret the good times, the laughter we shared, the love you made to me, nothing._

_I don't regret the bad times. The escape, the mission. My probie's mistake that cost you your freedom for some days._

_I know how you feel about apologies. I won't apologize. But my mistake will haunt me for the rest of my life. And I know that one day my mistakes will find a way to catch up with me._  
_Don't they always?_

_My path is leading me to other lands, far from you. My choices, though motivated by my career goals, are my own, not forced unto me by others._

_I hope you know, this has nothing to do with you. It's personal, myself and I, we have some straightening out to do. The path that I'm walking I have to go on my own. I can not share it with you, as you would only be hurt on the aftermath._

_But Jethro, your teachings will always guide me, as they are imprinted in my own soul. You taught me so much, and yet I feel like I've learnt so little. I had to leave to learn more._

_One day, when our paths cross again, I hope you had finally found in your heart the strength to forgive me._

_Je t'aime toujours._

_La dame en rouge._

_Jenny._

* * *

a/n: Poor Gibbs! Bad Jenny!


	2. Un jour avec mes souvenirs

_**Chapter 2: Un jour avec mes souvenirs**  
_  
_**C'est payé, balayé, oublié,  
Je me fous du passé!  
Avec mes souvenirs  
J'ai allumé le feu,  
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs,  
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux!  
Balayé les amours  
Avec leurs trémolos  
Balayés pour toujours  
Je repars à zéro...**_

_**Edith Piaf – Je ne regrette rien  
**_  
The redhead walks in hurried steps down the cobblestone street, her low heel shoes echoing with the big water drops raining over the _village_. Her moss green dress and her summer jacket, despite her desperate attempts to protect herself from the summer rain with an umbrella, are totally wet, softly molding to her body.

In one of her hands, two plastic shopping bags were filled to the brim with food, bought for two. Various types of local French cheese, baguettes straight out of the oven, sweet wine, and some fresh salad leaves, along with other things she found in the only shop.

She jumps a puddle on the floor, and stops on the pedestrian crossing. An old truck, loaded with fresh produce from the farmer's market in the next village, crawls up the road. As it drives in front of her, it splashes a puddle, making her even wetter.

She shivers with the cold water, despite the heat and humidity in the air. The faint scent of lavender drifts from the fields surrounding the ville, located just four blocks away from where she is standing in the cobblestone street.

Once the truck is gone, she crosses the street in hurried steps, and enters a small three story house, with its white washed walls and fresh flowers on the windows. It's July, and the heat wave that is blowing in the fields of the Pays de Valensole feels oppressive.

The historical building they are staying is an old farm house, converted into tiny little apartments. She closes the umbrella as soon as she crosses the threshold of the delicately carved wooden doors, and runs her fingers through her short red hair, trying to get rid of the water on them.

Finally, she struggles with the bags up the stairs, as for the duration of their stay, they have been using the attic as their watch tower.

She struggles with the two bags, the umbrella, and shivers when a cold droplet of rain falls from her wet hair and slides down her neck and her back. Cold water seems freezing against her burning skin.

She opens the door, and walks straight to the kitchen table on the corner of the room, without a glance to the men sitting by a table near the windows. White delicate curtains moved gently on the rain breeze, and still the man did not move from his vigilant pose by the window.

After all, they both had a job to do.

Jenny Sheppard and Leroy Jethro Gibbs had been into this small attic for the last two boiling weeks, just watching their suspected mole enjoying the French countryside and his French lover.

They had received a tip that, while he was enjoying his French retreat, he would also contact his buyer for the information he stole from the Navy. The Intel they had suggested that a Moroccan terrorist would arrive at this small village in the next few days for the exchange.  
Meanwhile, Jenny and Gibbs posed as an American married couple in a small sabbatical retreat in Provence: He, a frustrated writer trying to finish his latest novel and she, his faithful companion through that difficult writer's block time.

Of course, Gibbs hated every single moment he had to pretend to write, but at least any time he had to interact with people he only had to explain that he was 'in search of a good plot idea' and the person would start giving their lifetime achievements in detail, so he might use it in his 'book'.

And whenever he was his normal taciturn self, walking down the street with a scowl on his face, Jenny would simply smile and say that he was frustrated with his writer's block.

Jenny was enjoying herself immensely poking Gibbs' natural reserve, observing his normal taciturn mask slowly crack under the heat of the Provence sun and the boring assignment.

She starts taking the cheese and bright red tomatoes out of the bags, and glances at Gibbs who had not moved from his position on the window. He had his binocular on his eyes, watching their target two blocks down. From their privileged position in the attic, they had a perfect view from the house's garden, the living room and the bedroom window.

"Did I miss anything?"

Gibbs doesn't even twitch from his position, the binoculars firmly set on the mole.

"Nope."

"What are they doing?"

Gibbs lowers his binoculars and looks at her with his characteristic smirk on his face.

"Ah, you got to be kidding. Again?"

He turns to the window again looks at the binoculars.

"Yep."

Jenny walks up to him, and takes the binoculars off his hands. She looks at their target and indeed, there they are again.

"What is that? The third time in less than a day?"

"Fifth."

Jenny looks horrified at him.

"Gibbs, you're counting?"

He simply shrugs, and silently asks for the binocular back. She sets it forcibly on his open hand, and leaves him by the window.

The attic they had rented for their mission actually was a tiny little apartment. In its small area it had all the necessary comforts for a simple life: A bed, a sofa, a small equipped kitchen, a table, a small bookshelf. However, the bathroom was located one floor down on the corridor, and one had to leave the safety of the attic to the shared bathroom if one had to take a leak or have a shower.

Jenny goes to the small kitchen table they had. She unpacks everything and makes a small sandwich for herself, with some lettuce, bright red tomatoes and fresh French cheese, with extra virgin olive oil and oregano on top.

She takes the sandwich to the small table by the window, where Gibbs is sitting, pretending to write his 'novel' but actually observing the comings and goings from the house two blocks away, where their suspected traitor is having the time of his life with his French lover.

"I can't believe you were counting."

He glances at her, and sees her eating the sandwich and shrugs.

"I'm a guy. I notice these things."

"Guys are pigs."

He can't disagree with her, so he prefers to keep quiet. She finishes her sandwich, without offering it to him not even once.

"I can't believe he's done that five times."

Gibbs smiles while looking at the binoculars, and shakes his head.

"Six. He's starting again."

Jenny looks horrified at him.

"I can't believe it. Doesn't he get tired of it? Over and over again? Is that the only thing he can think of?"

"He's a guy. Young. She's willing. Why should he get tired?"

He looks again through his binoculars.

"It's a guy thing. That's what we always think about."

Jenny's face takes a speculative look.

"Is that what you always think about, Gibbs?"

He glances at her with a knowing smirk on his face, the one he knows infuriates her. They stare at each other for a whole minute, then he shrugs, and looks again at their target.

"Make me a sandwich, Probie."

She stands up, furious at him.

"Go to hell, Gibbs. Make your own sandwich."

She leaves the room with hard steps on the wooden floor, and leaves the attic. She locks herself into the tiny bathroom, furious with that infuriating man.

Only after she is there for a while, she realizes that he hadn't answered her question.

Damn.


	3. Qu'estce Que Vous Voulez?

_**Qu'est-ce Que Vous Voulez?**_

_Vous prenez mes sens _  
_Et le désir de rester _  
_Dis-moi où vous pouvez trouver _

_Et la vanité vous a trahi _  
_En ne touchant pas la peau _  
_Il est normal lorsque vous êtes _

_Et cette demande _  
_Le piétin-échaudage _  
_Je dois sortir de moi _

"What can he possibly see in her?"

Gibbs looks at Jenny, who is looking at her binoculars at the traitor dancing with his plump French lover, both with big smiles on their face. They had been watching him for weeks, and still no sign of the Moroccan terrorist link. Just endless hours watching him dancing and flirting with his girl.

"She has a nice smile, and she laughs at his jokes, but she lacks the grace of the other two girls who had more than showed their interest on him. What is so different about her?"

Gibbs can feel his left eyebrow almost reaching his hairline at Jenny's curious comment, and Jenny glares at him briefly, "I was just talking to myself, no need to answer that."

Both look back at their target, slowly dancing in the garden of their house with the soft French music of a clarinet and a saxophone, its sound filling the air and the two lovers gazing at each other. If he wasn't a sleazy traitor, just waiting for a contact of his link to a terrorist from Morocco, he could even say they looked cute together.

He pays attention to the way he touches her face, her hair, his left hand sliding to her waist, and the way he whispers on her ear, and she smiles at him, as if he's the center of her world.

"She listens to him."

Gibbs senses Jenny's surprised look at him, and he continues ignoring her astonishment, "really listens to him, as if he's the most intelligent man she has ever met."

Gibbs can sense Jenny's gaze burning him, simply smirks and keeps watching the couple.

"Guys like that."

They spend several minutes in silence, just observing the languid movement of the bodies, touching, the haunting music filling the hot summer night, and the soft scent of the lavender fields drifting with the breeze.

"Would you like that, Gibbs?"

He lowers his binoculars, and turns to look at Jenny, who is watching their target dancing, slowly at the sorrowful sound of French music.

"Someone whose entire world revolves around you? Someone who would listen to you…"

Jenny lowers her binoculars, and their gazes meet and lock, and the warm attic's temperature goes several degrees higher, "… as if you were the most intelligent man she has ever met?"

He studies her, trying to figure out what is the game Jenny is playing now.

After an intense staring contest, he simply smiles at her, lifts his binoculars to his eyes, and, and doesn't answer.

* * *

a/n: Gibbs, you are very very naughty!


	4. It's Fair Day

_**Chapter 4: It's Fair Day**_

"Comment voulez-vous gouverner un pays qui a deux cent quarante-six variétés de fromage?" **  
("How can you govern a country which has two hundred and forty-six varieties of cheese?")  
Charles de Gaulle (from Les Mots du Général, Ernest Mignon (1962))**

As their target has decided to take a stroll in the _ville _fair, both Gibbs and Jenny leave their hellish hot attic and follow their target as he goes with his French lover from one vegetable stall to another, looking for fresh produce.

Gibbs keeps his usual scowl on his face, trying to keep the well meaning French farmers from offering him lavender soaps, lotions and delicately designed dishcloths, which just makes Jenny smirk at his discomfort around such feminine and delicate things.

They stop by Jean-Claude Bertrand's stall, a smiling French man whose collection of fresh French cheeses, from the _Pélardon_, to _Livarot _and _Bleu de Vercors_, _Roquefort_, _Banon _and _Brie de Melun_ are over a very colorful Provence table cloth.

As the famous Winston Churchil said in 1940, "A country producing almost 360 different types of cheese cannot die." _C'est la vie. C'est France._

"_Bonjour_, _Monsier et Madame _Rover, how arrreee youuu?" he asks in his very heavy accent, which brings a smile to Jenny's face and a smirk to Gibbs'.

"We're fine, Monsier Bertrand, have you received the new shipment of _Bleu de Gex_?"

Monsier Bertrand smiles at Jenny, "Ahhh, madame, I separated a piece just for you, and I also have something special, as I know you are trying piece by piece of our delicious _fromage_" he says in his heavy accent, with a big smile on his face at the certain sell he's going to make.

He opens a small white cloth and shows the piece of _Bleu de Gex_ cheese, which Jenny gladly puts in her shopping bag. Then he goes through his several crates, and delicately unravels two parcels. He opens the delicate package and shows two pieces, one quarter of a whole cheese, delicately wrapped into a thin cloth.

"_Ce pâquet est precieux, Madam_, look, this" he points to one of the pieces, "is the best _Roquefort _you will ever taste, you will take it, and tell me later. And this is a piece of _Neufchatel_, sent by my cousin, from Normandie."

He cuts a small piece with a pocket knife, and gives it to Jenny, who bites it delicately, and closes her eyes as her taste buds are attacked by the delicious cheese.

_"C´est superbe!"_ she says, which brings a huge smile to Monsier Bertrand's face.

Gibbs just shakes his head and walks to the next stall, this one filled to the brin with lavender oils, lavender soups, lavender essence, and even some lavender sachets to hang from the windows, bringing the intoxicating scent of lavender from the fields around the small ville of Esparron-de-Verdon to their chambers.

_"Bonjour, Monsieur _Rover, how is your _roman_?" asks the smiling short bald man, with his pristine white shirt and a round tanned face. His hazel eyes look at Gibbs then at Jenny, who is still chatting excited with the cheese seller.

"It's not going anywhere, monsier Goddart," mumbles Gibbs, and he looks to his left, where their target is chatting excitedly with a farmer over… tomatoes.

_"C'est-ce que c'est de problem? _Perhaps I can give you ideas. I have a head full of ideas. _Oui, j'ai beaucoup des idée."_

Gibbs takes a small lavender essence bottle and plays with it in his hand, thinking about their assignment.

He signals to Monsier Goddart, who leans over to Gibbs, who says in a low voice just for his ears.

"You see, my book, it's a crime story. And in it, the killer has to kill someone inside a locked room, leaving no trace whatsoever he has ever been there. The victim dies a horrible death, obviously a murder, but there is no evidence that anyone has ever been with him in there, because the door is locked from the inside."

Monsier Goddart stares at Gibbs fixedly, and his eyes become glazed for a moment, as he thinks about the problem presented.

_"Oui, c'est une probléme difficile. Trés difficile." _

Goddart straightens his spine, and goes through his herbs and lovely lavender creams, frowning and thinking.

Gibbs smirks as he sees the French man trying to solve the puzzle, as he was enjoying greatly his pretend game to be a writer, which apparently resulted in him not writing anything at all, as whenever people asked him about his book he would simply say that he had a block, and people would coo and offer their own solutions to the "problems" he was having with the plot.

He glances at their target, who now was talking with a farmer, while his lover was picking beautiful pumpkins.

_"J'ai une idée!"_ exclaims Goddart, staring at a bar of lavender soup in his hand.

He walks around his stall, and stalks Gibbs, who even takes a step back from the excited French man.

"What if he was poisoned?"

Gibbs shake his head, as that had already been an hypothesis on the investigation of the death of the French contact down in Marseille, but Ducky had informed him the French coroner had not found any trace of poisonous substances in the body.

"We checked that already, there are no traces of poison … in the murder of the story."

_"Non, non, _what if he was poisoned with something… that wasn't a poison?"

That gives Gibbs a pause, who looks at the excited French man waving a bar of soup in his hand, _"oui, oui, c'est la natur des choses!_ Think _Monsieur _Rover, what if he had a violent allergic reaction to something common, such as lavender? There are people who are allergic, very few really, but there are. Any doctor who examined the body would frown but would not think that it is something worth of notice. But for that person," he shows the soup in his hand, "something so simple as a bar of soup could be death awaiting him."

Gibbs stares at the French lavender seller, then at the bar of soup in his hand, thinking about the circumstances of the death of their French contact in Marseille.

What if…

He squints his eyes at their target, and turns around, and marches towards Jenny, who is now shopping some beautiful fresh oranges and limes.

"Gotta talk a minute to you," he grabs her arm, and drags her away from the curious ears and eyes of the French vendors, dragging her towards one of the several fountains that littered the small fair square from Esparron de Verdon. They sit down on the stone fountain, and Jenny glares at him for a moment.

"What?"

"What if Monsier Juneaux was poisoned?"

She expected him to talk about anything but the case. She looks at him for a moment, then speaks very slowly, as to a child.

"The forensic report says that there were no traces of any know poison on his body."

Gibbs nods energetically, and glances back at the square, where all the stalls were selling fresh products and they can see their target speaking with the potato seller now.

"What if it's something common, like a flower, or a tea, or a bee sting. I don't know, was he allergic to anything?"

"I don't know, we will have to ask Ducky."

"Good. Let's do it once we're back."

He stands up, takes her shopping basket from her hands, and starts walking back to the main square.

Jenny looks at his back for a second shaking her head, surprised at the leaps his mind could make, and leaves her spot by the fountain. She rushes after him, until they are walking side by side.

"How did you come up with the idea he was poisoned?"

He glances at her for a moment, showing that smirk that he knows grates on her nerves.

"A good writer always comes up with the most amazing plot twists for the crimes he writes about. Now, if I may, I have to buy some lavender soup from a friend."

He walks towards Monsieur Goddart' stall, and starts negotiating some lavender soup, for the joy of the old merchant, leaving a puzzled Jenny staring at his back.

"What the hell has just happened here?" she whispers to herself.


	5. J'ai un secret

_**Chapter 5: J'ai un secret **_

"Indeed, my dear Jethro, this man was poisoned," says Ducky, closing forcefully the folder with the new autopsy report and looking up from the papers to Jenny and Gibbs.

Gibbs had forsaken his bored-American-writer-persona look and was in comfortable jeans and his fateful polo shirt, with his favorite jacket on. Jenny was finally out of the summer flowery dresses and was in a professional tailored suit, and both were relieved to be able to stay away a couple of days away from their assignment to visit Ducky back in Marseille.

Another pair of agents were discretely following their target, while they exposed their theory to Ducky, who revisited the medical notes and requested a new post mortem exam to be done, finding something really disturbing to say at least.

"However, I do not understand how _Docteur _Bertrand could miss such important information from Monsieur Juneaux' medical history. If the man had a history of such violent allergic reactions to milk and its derivates, why did Bertrand not report finding cheese remains in the contents of the deceased's stomach?"

Gibbs stares down at the floor, frowning his forehead as he considers the information.

"Probably because he's French and that was exactly what he expected to find. Cheese and tomatoes and bread. Traditional light fare, nothing that he wouldn't see in thousand autopsies he had ever done during his career. He expected it, so he didn't think that it would be something suspicious."

"So, our killer has to know Monsieur Juneaux very well."

Both Ducky and Gibbs turn to look at Jenny, who is looking at them with folded arms. They had bounced theories the whole way from Esparron to Marseille, and Jenny insisted that Monsieur Juneaux knew his killer, while Gibbs was convinced that the killer was their target. They even made a bet on it.

However, their target never left Esparron since they started their surveillance, and Monsieur Juneaux had been found dead only last week.

"Indeed, Jenny, only someone who was intimately aware of Monsieur Juneaux's health concerns would be knowledgeable enough to know the exact amount of diary products he would have to ingest to cause such a violent reaction. Considering how Monsieur Juneaux was able to survive with such severe high intolerance to dairy products, he must had been careful his whole life to avoid such awful demise."

Ducky sighs, looking at the pictures of the deceased, "Pity that even his extreme vigilance was not able to ensure he would avoid such terrible end."

Jenny smiles lightly, fact that is not missed either by Gibbs or Ducky. She approaches Gibbs slowly, almost stalking him. Gibbs slowly straightens his back and stares her down, in a prompt attempt to show he's not uncomfortable to her proximity, as she stops right in front of him and stares at him with her cat like eyes, unblinking.

They stare at each other for one heated moment, while Ducky just studies the two agents with a concerned expression on his face. These two had never been for so long in an assignment in such close quarters, and instead of the expected animosity Ducky had been waiting to flourish between the stubborn redhead and his silent and mysterious friend, he had watched them slowly start a silent bantering of looks and gestures that progressively seemed to become more intense at each day that went by, fact which worried Ducky greatly.

Ducky knew Gibbs had been hurt, badly hurt, at some time in his past. However, Ducky had no idea what that could possibly be. He also had never dared to overstep the bounds of their incipient friendship to ask.

Gibbs, being Gibbs, never volunteered what was happening behind his blue eyes.

However Jenny was a completely different matter. Focused, ambitious, a rising star in the agency. She also played her cards very close to her chest, but she clearly only made connections that provided her of some sort of advantage in whatever game she played.

And apparently, her next hand of cards was set on… Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"So, apparently…" she pauses, staring into Gibbs eyes with a smirk on her face, while Gibbs stares at her impassively, "I was right, and you were wrong."

"That's just a working theory. We have no proof of that yet."

"Still, it is a viable working theory."

Gibbs just shrugs.

"So?" he asks uninterested.

She leans over him, and says in a low voice close to his ear, "I win, you lose the bet. You owe me dinner, Agent Gibbs."

She smiles a little as she feels the shiver running on Gibbs as her breath touches his sensitive skin. She takes a step back, smirks at his impassive face. His eyes, however, had changed from impassivity to burning desire.

She says a low goodbye to Ducky, without taking her gaze away from Gibbs' eyes, and leaves the room, always under the intense stare of Gibbs, who is not able to tear his gaze away from her back.

"Jethro?" asks Ducky in a concerned tone of voice.

"Yes, Ducky?" says Gibbs almost distractedly, still staring at the door through which Jenny walked out of the room.

"What exactly is happening between you and Agent Sheppard?"

Gibbs wipes all emotion from his face and turns to Ducky.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Really? For a moment here I thought I had to set the thermostat again, such was the heat in this room."

Gibbs smirks at Ducky and shrugs unconcerned, dismissing Ducky's worries.

"Nothing is happening, she's just being… her annoying self again."

"And I've noticed certain tension between you two that was lacking during your previous visit as well."

Gibbs stares at Ducky, trying to show nothing of his current turmoil to his friend. He knew Ducky was very perceptive of said things, and there was no reason to worry Ducky. After all, nothing had happened.

Yet.

"I've been living with that woman for weeks, of course there would be some… tension between us. Nothing new there."

He throws the files on the table, deciding to quit this conversation before it became more awkward that it already is.

"Keep us posted, we have to go back to our post and I have a book to pretend to write."

He turns and starts walking towards the door of the French morgue, just to be stopped by Ducky's worried voice and chilling warning.

"Jethro, regardless of what you think you may know about our delightful agent Jennifer Sheppard, there are some areas that she still keeps under a veil of darkness that you won't ever be able to see, as she won't ever invite you to it."

Gibbs stops and turns to stare at Ducky, his cold blue eyes burning the old M.E.

"What are you implying, Ducky?"

"I'm just telling you to be careful, my dear friend. Young Jennifer might be a delight to the eyes and to the heart, but whatever she is hiding is powerful enough to rule her interactions and they might also dictate her affections towards others."

Gibbs takes some steps towards Ducky, his eyes becoming chilled blue stones.

"What exactly are you trying to tell me, Ducky?"

Ducky sighs, as he knows Gibbs is nothing but extremely careful with his private life, never letting it interfere with the job to be done, but he is also, regardless of his dedication to his job, a man. And a man who was spending almost all of his waking and sleeping hours with a very beautiful and attractive woman, who seemed to have set her eyes towards him.

"Be careful. That's all I ask."


	6. Mistakes

_**Chapter 6: Mistakes**_

Il m'a vue nue,  
Toute nue,  
Il était parti comme un dard,  
Mais je n'ai pas eu de retard  
Il m'a vue nue,  
Toute nue.  
_**Je suis une jeune fille, c'est net,  
Un peu dans l'genre de Miss Helyett.  
Car je me dis, depuis cette fatale nuit,  
Je n'peux pas épouser un autre homme que lui  
Il m'a vue nue,  
Tell'ment nue,  
Super-nue.**_

Edith Piaf – Il m'a vue nue

Probably that was the turning point for Jethro and Jenny. Ducky's warning haunted Gibbs conscious and unconscious thoughts, whenever he looked at Jenny.

Still, the simmering attraction had to find an outlet somehow. All that spilled out of control during the dinner that he prepared for her to pay his bet. Their target retired for the night, and seemed to enjoy the curves and lines of his lover, leaving both agents hot and bothered observing their target doing what they both were extremely anxious to do.

"Do you even wonder?"

Her soft voice brakes Gibbs's concentration on their target, so he turns his eyes to look at Jenny, who seems to be gazing at something on the wall, with a lost expression on her eyes.

"About what?"

"Do you ever wonder that they maybe are living a much more interesting existence than us? Loving, being loved, stealing, fighting for an ideal, a wrong and deranged ideal, but they are convicted that this is the right thing. They are so sure they are doing the right thing that they are willing to die for it."

"I'm willing to die for my country."

"So are they. What makes us so different from them? What makes us better than them?"

Gibbs sighs deeply, uncomfortable with the thought that Jenny might be having second thoughts about their mission.

"They kill innocent people just because they don't share their belief system and—"

"Don't we do the same thing?"

"It's different."

"Why? Is it really so?"

"If you are having any doubts, you really –"

"I'm not having doubts. I know what we have to do and why we have to do it. But don't you ever think about it?"

"What exactly is your problem?" he asks exasperated, tired of her round about talking.

Jenny shakes her head, showing Gibbs that she is indeed for a moment confused about her true motivations for being there.

"What if we're wrong? What if there is no black and white, just shades of grey. What if we're on the wrong side?"

NCIS NCIS NCIS

Later that night, Jenny laid down to sleep on the bed, while Jethro took the night shift to watch their target. Her restless moving showed how disturbed her mind was, even in slumber. Gibbs looks again at their target's house, no movement in there.

If he follows the pattern, he won't be going anywhere until first daylight.

Gibbs stands from his position by the windows that, even though are open, only bring an oppressive hot breeze inside the room. He takes some steps towards the bed, despite the siren bells screaming in his ears and the constant buzzing of Ducky's warning on his mind.

He stands beside the bed, looking down at Jenny and notices that, despite her efforts, she is still awake. She opens huge blue eyes and stares into his. For a moment both just allow themselves to express without words what they are feeling through their intense gaze into each other.

"What do you want from me, Jenny?" he whispers softly, but she still hears him, as she answers in an equally soft voice.

"I want to call you Jethro."

They didn't sleep that night.

NCIS NCIS NCIS

Three days later, they followed their target to the arranged meeting point, and witnessed the exchange of information. They took them down, but in a last desperate action, the French woman jumped in front of her lover, being taken down by one of Jenny's shots. And thanks to Jenny's mistake, he was arrested.

The end.


End file.
